Sherlock Returns
by 10th Time Lord
Summary: Sherlock returns to his brother's flat in the hope that Mycroft will help him, learning some disturbing truths along the way.
1. Chapter 1: A Restless Night

**Chapter 1: A Restless Night**

_Author Note: This is actually an ongoing role-play between me and Beth (No-body-perfect). Don't worry, I have permission to publish. Basically it follows Mycroft's (me) and Sherlock's (Beth) relationship when Sherlock returns from falling off St Bartholomew's Hospital. So, with some editing so that it flows more like a story while trying to stick to its role-play roots, I present Sherlock's Return._

Mycroft paced his flat restlessly, the evening sun shone through the curtains and bathed the flat with its light. Files were strewn across the coffee table and the sofa was creased from where Mycroft had been sitting for so long, flicking from one file to the next, trying to find answers to the questions which floated through his mind. Mycroft looked up, his pacing slowed and a gently knocking could be heard at the door. He walked towards the door, turning the brass doorknob and allowing the door to open just a little.

Sherlock eyed his brother; he could feel his legs starting to give in under him. He felt weak; he'd not eaten at all in the last week and had hardly slept either. Mycroft opened the door wider, allowing Sherlock to stumble through the door.

"Where the devil have you been Sherlock?" Mycroft growled. Sherlock forced his eyes to stay open. It wasn't working; the blurs in the corner of his eyes were clawing at the end of his vision.

"I... I..." Sherlock staggered backwards, knocking an expensive looking vase off of Mycroft's table as he did. Mycroft's anger subsided slowly as he watched Sherlock, grabbing Sherlock under his arm and leading him to the kitchen.

"Do you think you can stay awake long enough to eat something?" Mycroft asked his brother more slowly and softly than before. Sherlock nodded weakly, his eyes following Mycroft as he moved towards the fridge to grab some cheese and some chocolate. Mycroft moved to the cupboard which stood directly to the side of the fridge and opened it to find some biscuits, laying these in front of Sherlock before Mycroft started to make some tea.

"Thank you," Sherlock muttered lightly threw gritted teeth.

Sherlock reluctantly ate the food that was put in front of him. Eating was not his favourite thing to do, bad for brain work. He kept an eye on Mycroft as he made tea, Sherlock had not intended on going to Mycroft, but he had little choice of anywhere else to go. Everyone thought he was dead…

The thought trailed off as Sherlock pushed his food away. He dipped his head downwards and closed his eyes, thinking. He'd done a lot of thinking lately; it hadn't done him any good. Sherlock sighed and looked up again his eyes following Mycroft's every movement. Mycroft turned around with two mugs in his hand and sighed heavily, he took a few paces towards where Sherlock was resting his head on the table.

"Here, drink this," Mycroft said, placing one of the mugs in front of Sherlock. "You look terrible you know, and why you decided to come here is beyond me. We all know that I'm the last person you would consider to actually come too for help."

Mycroft took a gulp from his tea, waiting patiently, though he knew he wouldn't get an explanation from Sherlock in his current state. Mycroft placed his mug on one of the coasters. "Drink that, I'll go make a bed up for you to sleep in."

Mycroft rose swiftly and aimed towards the kitchen doorway, turning slightly to look at his brother again before leaving the room completely. Sherlock said nothing and watched Mycroft as he left the room. He picked up the mug of tea and sipped at it. He had missed the taste of tea; Sherlock was a found believer that you could never have enough tea. He pushed the chair he was sitting in backwards slightly and swung his legs up onto the table.

It was a shock to Sherlock that Mycroft was being hospitable, they had never got on. Not even as children. Sherlock was grateful for Mycroft's attitude towards to him. He was not in the mood to fight with Mycroft, nor in the mood to explain himself. He simply needed the time to think.

He put the empty coffee mug down and got up off his chair, walking towards some of the kitchen draws looking for some form of a cigarette. He needed one. After rummaging through multiple of Mycroft's draws, he gave up and sat back down again. He placed his head back on the table and closed his eyes, trying to clear his buzzing mind.

"You can have my bedroom for the night," Mycroft came back into the kitchen, once again looking at his brother before looking around the kitchen. "And if you were looking for a cigarette, I've left one on the bed for you."

Mycroft stood calmly across from where Sherlock sat, studying Sherlock's slightly puzzled face before grabbing is own cold cup of tea from the counter and taking a sip. Sherlock looked up at his brother and gave him a simple nod. Before he pushed his chair out far and stood up. Sherlock blinked multiple times as his vision seemed to wobble. He grabbed onto the table for support before looking at his brother, trying to give the impression that everything was fine. Sherlock was tried to make a face that made him look like the old, he old consulting detective. It didn't work, He was too tired and his head was buzzing as ideas and thoughts were flying around in his skull.

"I'm going to bed," Sherlock hoped his voice would come out strong, but it only came out as a whisper. As Sherlock slowly walked past Mycroft and into a room he took for Mycroft's.

He sat down on the bed and picked up the cigarette and pulled a lighter out of his inside blazer pocket. He lit it up and took a long drag, before slowly blowing the smoke out. He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. Enjoying the felling that nicotine left in his lungs and how it made everything in his brain slow down to 'normal' speed. Sherlock stubbed out the cigarette on a conveniently placed ash tray that lay beside the bed on a bedside table. He kicked off his shoes and places his arms behind his head, closing his eyes. Before drifting off, still wearing the clothes he's been wearing for the past week. But as sleep took over Sherlock's mind and body, he couldn't have cared less.

Mycroft watched his brother unsteadily make his way out of the kitchen before moving into the living space, grabbing some of the important files which lay on the coffee table. He spread the files out around him on the floor and immersed himself with the work that needed to be done as his brother slept in the other room. Hours passed slowly as Mycroft continued to work, only occasionally getting up to get another cup of tea.

It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that Mycroft stood up, opening the curtains at the window wide enough to look outside. The pale light of the sun was trying to push the darkness back, though the moon still managed to cling to the sky. Mycroft sighed, turning back and sitting on the sofa. He ran his hand absent-mindedly through his short hair, looking towards the bedroom door where he could hear a few gentles snores. Mycroft closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply before returning to one of the folders which lay before him, hoping to distract himself until his brother woke up.

Sherlock twisted and turned in bed lightly, his dream started off normal.

He was in 221B, home. He was running around the flat, he was looking for something… but he couldn't find it. John was nowhere to be seen; he ran down the stairs and hailed a cab. It was quiet… too quiet. When he got out of the cab he was at St Bartholomew's hospital.

"Oh no… oh no," Sherlock mutter in his sleep lazily.

He began to climb the stairs up to the roof, what he feared most was there… waiting for him. Moriarty. His eyes pierced Sherlock. Fear struck him as soon as he saw this man.

"I'm going to burn the heart out of you Sherlock, I've watched you burn!" Moriarty's laugh cut the silence as Sherlock's body both shook in his dream and out of it. Sherlock looked around. There was no escape. Sherlock look back at Moriarty he had John…

"JOHN!" Sherlock shouted out loud, his body shaking.

"You jumped once Sherlock, you got away. Think is the only way, this is the game. Jump and John lives. If you don't… well," Moriarty's voice was like poison in Sherlock's mind. As soon as Moriarty had stopped talking a red sniper light appeared on John's chest.

Sherlock would feel his cheek's getting wet, as he slowly stepped up to the side of the building. He could hear John behind him shouting at him, telling him not to jump. He had to do this… do it again.

"You're boring Sherlock, so boring! So predictable! So I'm going to make things more fun," As Moriarty said this, a loud bang from a gun went off and John collapsed to the floor in a heap.

"NO! JOHN!" Sherlock screamed out loud of the second time.

He was falling, falling of the building; he was coming closer and closer with impact. When the sound of his own skull crushing filled Sherlock's ears.

Sherlock snapped out of his sleep at once, flinging his body to sit up right. Sweat was covering his head making curls stick to his forehead. Sherlock sat there breathing deeply in the darkness. His cheeks were wet and his eyes were sore. This wasn't the first nightmare he had, had. It was always the same. It scared Sherlock, but he would never admit it to anyone.


	2. Chapter 2: Morning Light

**Chapter 2 – Morning Light**

The morning light crept through the gap in the curtains, falling on Mycroft's face and waking him from the few minutes of sleep which he had managed to get. He stretched slightly; the folder which had been resting on him fell to the floor. Rubbing his forehead, Mycroft got up from the sofa to move towards the kitchen, picking up his mug and putting it on the kitchen side. He turned slightly, grabbing the kettle and filling it with water, putting it down on the kettle rest and flicking the switch so it began to boil and he shivered slightly. Mycroft turned to look round the empty kitchen, sensing he wasn't the only one awake, though he didn't call out in fear of disturbing the quiet flat.

Sherlock got off the bed and brushed himself off, trying to remove the creases in suit he had been wearing all week. Sherlock rubbed his face, trying to bring himself back to the world of the living and out of the nightmare he'd just experienced. He slowly and quietly walked out of the room into the hall; Sherlock could hear the sound of the kettle boiling in the kitchen. Mycroft is up, Sherlock thought. He remained silent; he did not want to attract his brother attention for him to witness Sherlock in the state he was in. Sherlock stood with his back pressed against the wall as he deducted the possibilities for each room. After finally identifying the kitchen, living area and bathroom, Sherlock briskly walked towards the bathroom before locking himself in there.

He walked over to the sink and turned on the cold water tap into the basin, filling it completely. Sherlock looked up to see a thin figure looking back at him, his hair was clinging to his face and he was pale as pale as death itself. It took Sherlock a few seconds to process who that figure was, it was Sherlock. It was him.  
>Sherlock took a deep breath before pushing his head under the freezing water that filling the basin. He immediately flicked his head out of the water and rubbed his face again. He looked at himself in the mirror again, before letting out a long sigh and emptying the basin and semi-drying his face with a hand towel.<br>Sherlock walked into the kitchen, trying to give the impression that everything was normal and he in fact hadn't come 'back from the dead' a few days ago.

"Good morning brother," Sherlock said in a strong voice before sitting down in a chair.

Mycroft nodded, not looking at his brother until he heard the kettle click off. Mycroft grabbed another mug from one of the cupboards and placed it next to his own, putting a teabag in both before pouring the boiling hot water over the teabags. He followed the familiar routine before placing one mug in from of Sherlock and sitting down opposite him. Mycroft fiddled awkwardly, not making eye contact before breathing in and looking up.

"So your back," Mycroft broke the silence as he took a sip of his tea. "I'm surprised you came here."

Mycroft stopped talking, hoping that his brother would try to answer the unasked question which he knew Mycroft wanted to ask but didn't. Mycroft continued to fiddle, picking up various items that were strewn across the table before placing them back down, uncertain and a little uncomfortable.

Sherlock picked up his own mug and sipped it, finally relaxing. His breathing returned to normal pace as Sherlock drank more of his tea. He put down his mug and looked up at his brother.

"Well, you have a job within the British government, it's only logical to turn up here" Sherlock drank more of his tea. Once he had finished the tea he didn't put the mug down but held it out of view from Mycroft, not because he was cold, but to hide the fact his hands were shaking.

Sherlock lent back in his chair, not breaking eye contact with his brother. Sherlock analysed Mycroft's every movement, the nervous fidgeting and the way he was trying to avoid eye contact as much as possible. He wanted to know something. Sherlock studied his brother's face a little longer.

"Ahh," Sherlock exclaimed "You want to know how I did it; you want to know how the 'dead' is walking" Sherlock smirked slightly, oh how he had waited so long for a chance to let his brain free. For a chance to explain everything that needed explaining. To, as John would have said…, show off.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "I don't see how you think the British government are going to help. Obviously I want to know how you did it, I'm just curious as to why you haven't gone to the one person you trust more than even your own brother." Mycroft watched as Sherlock shifted his weight slightly. "Don't try to pretend with me Sherlock, you value John's opinion more than anyone else's, and you trust him. I watched you for 18 months. I should know."

Mycroft smiled slightly, no longer nervous though he was still fiddling with the various items which littered the table. Sherlock's features went hard as he sent a glare to Mycroft at the mention of John's name.

"John's opinion does not matter. I do as I please," Sherlock winced slightly at what he had said. Of course John was important, he was Sherlock's blogger. They fought crime together, John risked his life for Sherlock, John had been saving Sherlock's light since the day they met; he shot a cabby for crying out loud! No one had ever risked their lives for Sherlock before. John would always matter to the self claimed sociopath.

"Well, technically you are the British government Brother dearest, and I am in need of some help to clear my name. Also to clear the fact I'm 'dead' and since you have the power and files and everything under the moon," Sherlock watched his brother's face, watching any express that might suddenly flick across his face that could be of importance.

"Neither John, Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson have the power I need to clear back, that's when I fall to you," Sherlock smirked once more, before standing up and pacing the room, still clutching the mug to steady his shaking hands. He was still on wit's end.

"So brother, are you willing to help me? I might not talk for days on end, Are you bothered by the violin? I tend to play when I'm thinking," guilt filled Sherlock, he felt as though he was betraying John, as though he was replacing him by saying this. Of course Mycroft would know these things about Sherlock, they had once lived together. "I'm hoping you have my violin and that it's not in the flat." Sherlock stared at Mycroft in hope that his emotion would give away the answer before he could… Mycroft's face fell slightly, Sherlock rolls his eyes. "It's still in the flat isn't it?" Mycroft had no reply. Sherlock would be sure to get this violin back one way or another.

"Moving swiftly on," Sherlock began, he was on a roll and was showing no signs of stopping "How I survived, I thought Moriarty would pull a trick like this so before I jumped off St Bart's I places a bouncy ball I was fiddling with under my arm, this slowed down my circulation and would appear that I was dying. I had a rubbish dumpster placed under the building so when I jumped off I could have a soft landing, unfortunately in the fall I hit my head against the side of the dumpster and cracked my skull open. Not planned, but added great effect. When John…" Sherlock paused slightly and stopped pacing, his mind drifting slightly to his flat mat-… ex flat mate's face. It almost brought a tear to Sherlock's eye but he brushed of the feeling as he could feel Mycroft watching him very closely. He would not cry, and he would not cry in front of his older brother "John was injected with the hallucinate drug that was used in Baskerville on the H.O.U.N.D case, this caused him to see what he expected to see, me, dead. I then used a trick Iren Adler used; I simply faked my body and D.N.A. The man in my current grave is William Swan, he comment suicide a few days after my 'death'. Oh beautiful funeral service brother, flowers were a bit much though" Sherlock would probably be the only person to see their own funeral; this brought a smile to his face. "Until now, I've been hiding out in the tunnel, keeping away from human contact and watching… people"

Sherlock looked at his brother, waiting for some kind of reaction. Mycroft raised his eyebrow slightly, before turning around and going into the living area. He picked up one of the files and brought it back to the kitchen, putting it on the table and pushing it towards Sherlock.

"Lestrade has been working for the British Government for the past week," Mycroft was watching Sherlock just as closely as Sherlock had been watching him. "We've been keeping an eye on Doctor John Watson." Mycroft paused; he seemed to be thinking before putting his next thoughts into words. "I will help you under one condition. Don't leave him Sherlock; I don't think he'll be able to cope without you."

Mycroft stopped, waiting for his brother's reply. Knowing that he allowed himself to drop his guard ever so slightly in the hope that his brother would be rational just once. Sherlock sat back down and swung his legs up upon the table, knocking over a candle holder as he did so. He frowned slightly from the lack of reaction from his brother. John would have told him that he was brilliant, or what he did was amazing! But Mycroft simply pushed a brown file towards him. Boring.

"Lestrade? British Government. Well he is going up in the world," Sherlock muttered at Mycroft. He picked up the file and mindless flicked through it. Not taking in any information that was in the file. Before dropping it back on the table. Sherlock was still holding onto his mug, his hands had not stopped shaking. He looked at Mycroft, still studying his face in depth.

"Do you want to know why I did it brother, why I had to jump off that building?" Sherlock dropped his legs off the table and leaned in, closing some of the space between Mycroft and himself, narrowing his eyes as his temper took over his brain. "If I didn't John would have been KILLED." Sherlock raised his voice as he said the last word, he would feel his anger boiling in his veins "Lestrade, John and Mrs. Hudson would have all been shot. Shot dead." Sherlock hit the table with his hand before pushing away the chair (so hard it fell over) and walk around the kitchen, trying to vent some of his anger. "Moriarty was playing us! Playing everyone! He had followers; they were going to kill them." Sherlock spat out Moriarty's name like it was venom in his mouth. "How do I know they aren't watching John, Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson, I go back and they could all be killed?"

Sherlock picked up the file from the table and walked over to Mycroft before dropping it in front of him "Explain this, I've explained my half. You can explain yours" Sherlock said, trying (and failing) to control his anger.


	3. Chapter 3: Mycroft Explains

**Chapter 3: Mycroft Explains**

"You really don't know why we did it?" Mycroft asked, astonished that his brother had deduced the reasoning behind why Mycroft had followed John. "You aren't able to see why we did?"

Mycroft waited for Sherlock's answer, but it was clear from the angry expression that the reply wasn't going to come. It was Mycroft's turn to be angry.

"Are you really that stupid, Sherlock?" Mycroft thundered, shaking with anger. "You're not the only one who's had close contact with Moriarty. Do you really think that he would leave John alone? What about Lestrade or Mrs Hudson? Do you think that just because he's dead that he doesn't have people working for him?"

Mycroft's breathing was heavy as he let out his frustration at his brother. He took a step back, putting his head against the cool fridge door before continuing on more calmly.

"I'm sorry," Mycroft's voice was soft, though the words seemed unfamiliar to him. "But with you gone, for once I didn't know what to do. How to protect the people you most cared about when you were no longer here. You're not the only one who cares about them, Sherlock. It's not easy watching someone who seems to be so broken and so lost and not being able to help them..."

Mycroft's voice trailed off, for once allowing a tear to trickle down his cheek as he looked back at his brother. "I really do care what happens to you, you know." Mycroft's voice was now barely more than a whisper, though his voice still carried to where Sherlock stood.

Sherlock stared at Mycroft in shock. He took a deep breath, knowing his sudden outburst was wrong. Sherlock awkwardly walked over to Mycroft and placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping his brother would understand that he was trying to apologise. He didn't know how to manage this, his brain began to jump around again, trying to look for an answer on what to do. He settled with explain himself, maybe this would help.

"It was a game Mycroft," Sherlock tried to speak in a softer tone, but his voice came out the way it always did when explain something that seemed simple to him but complex to others. "We were playing a game, and he was making the rules. I'm surprised you don't know the same amount as I, you were the one who gave him the information about me." The last sentence came out a little harsh, but Sherlock thought he was simply explaining the facts. "He was bored, I was simply entertaining him. He had complete control over anything I did. I was also stopping him from getting to the 'top' I was stopping him do things he wanted to do. By 'burning' me he achieved that. But I managed to talk my way out of jumping, and he realized the only way to get to the top was to force me to kill myself, in doing that he had to kill himself. He died laughing." Sherlock shivered slightly, the laugh still haunting his mind in his dreams and when we were awake.

Sherlock changed the subject quickly, not wanting to remember Moriarty. He could delete the information, and had thought about it many times but decided that information could be considered valuable. It was then Sherlock took account of something his brother had said.

"John was upset? Why would he be upset?" Sherlock looked at Mycroft confused hoping for some kind of explanation. "And what's in the file?" Sherlock nodded towards the file on the table.

Mycroft took a few deep breathes, trying to steady himself. "Games can still be real Sherlock, especially when Moriarty was involved."

Mycroft walked over to the table and picked up the file, flicking it over and over in his hands. "You really don't think people can get close to you, do you?" Mycroft asked, though he wasn't expecting an answer. "You're the cleverest man in the world but you can't see what's right in front of you."

Mycroft began to wonder restlessly, his eyes were focused on the file in his hands and yet they seemed to be miles away all the same. It was the familiar blank stare which Mycroft had used so often before, especially when he was trying to explain something difficult.

"John isn't the only one who has chronicled your adventures," Mycroft raised an eyebrow, hoping against hope Sherlock wouldn't grow too impatient with what he was trying to explain. "The Government has been interested in you for quite some time Sherlock Holmes, you just never noticed as I've always told them they were barking up the wrong tree. Eighteen months ago you met a man, not an ordinary man but a soldier. He knew you barely more than a few days, and yet he saved your life. There was an unfamiliar flicker in your eye that day. Something changed in you Sherlock when you met that strange, lonely Doctor. Do you think you can deduce from that what this file may contain? Probably not, maybe I'm being a little bit too cryptic."

Mycroft paused to watch his younger brother. Taking note of the emotions which he tried to conceal with his eyes.

Sherlock's hand shook more violently as he took the file out of his brother's hands. What had his brother meant by him thinking no one could get close to him; no one wanted to be close to Sherlock. Sherlock didn't have friends; no one would hang around Sherlock out of free will! They all thought of him as a freak, or doubted his intelligence. Who would want to even get close to Sherlock? Everyone thought he was arrogant… everyone but… John…

The first time he had done a deduction in front of John he had told him what he did was amazing… extraordinary… no one had ever told Sherlock that before. Normal people would tell him to piss off but then again… John was nothing but normal. John was remarkable.

Hand's shaking worse than before, Sherlock flicked thought the file taking all the information. Pulling out different pictures… pictures of John… pictures of John in their flat… He was just sat there, staring at the wall. The doctor looked terrible, his clothes seemed to be drowning him and his face was looking thin and hollow. It didn't even look like he had shaven for a week. There were pictures of John holding the belongings of Sherlock; his stick was always near him… his limp was back.

Sherlock tried to chock back tears. What had he done… this was all Sherlock's fault. He had caused this…  
>The file contained more pictures, notes and DVD's. Everything recorded John's movements. Sherlock didn't know what to do. He stood there in shock. He dropped the file and the notes and photos fell to the floor. Sherlock pushed his back against the fridges and slid down it, bringing his knees up to his chest. He felt weird… he felt something he had never felt before. Am I ill? Sherlock thought. He put a hand to his forehead. No, he wasn't ill. He was feeling something else. Something new.<p>

Sherlock sat there for a few minutes. He had completely forgotten Mycroft was watching him. Sherlock just looked straight ahead. His brain had frozen. His heart felt tight. He would feel water running down his cheeks. Tears? Sherlock had never done sentiment, why was he crying? Sherlock never cries. Crying never helped anyone. He quickly hid his face in his knees, trying to hide the fact the mask he wore had fallen. Leaving him open, leaving him venerable.


	4. Chapter 4: CCTV

**Chapter 4: CCTV**

Mycroft shifted his weight slightly before moving to sit down by his younger brother wrapping his arms round him like he use to do when Sherlock was young and had needed the comfort. Things back then had been so much simpler, there hadn't been rivalry back then that had come later when he and Sherlock were teenagers. Yet the hug felt natural, though it seemed like a forgotten memory which stirred in the back of the mind. Mycroft tried to find the words to comfort his younger brother, like he could when they were both children but he didn't know what to say. It had been so long since Mycroft had had to comfort Sherlock and he didn't want to risk losing Sherlock anymore to the tears which streamed down his face.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft whispered quietly into his brother's ear. "Can I show you something else?"

It wasn't often that Mycroft asked his brother's permission before doing something, but this time it had to be Sherlock's choice and not his own.

Sherlock's body stiffened at the touch of Mycroft, it was such an unfamiliar thing. He hadn't been able to stand being in the same room as his brother for years, but now he was being almost hugged by him. It felt right. But it also felt wrong. Sherlock lifted up his head to look at his brother's face. He could still feel the tears running down his cheeks; his eyes were sore and stinging slightly. Sherlock did not dare to rub his eyes, in hope that Mycroft had no noticed the tears that had stained his face.

Almost automatically Sherlock stood up straight, staring down at his brother. He was trying to do his best to look as though he hadn't just broken down. He wanted to look strong and as though nothing in the whole world could move him. Sherlock's hands were shaking worse than ever and to hide the fact, he pushed them into his coat pockets. He wasn't sure why they shook. He'd tried to deduct this many times, but each time he failed.

"O… of course, show me w… what you need to," Sherlock's voice wobbled as he spoke. Another thing he hoped Mycroft might have over looked.

Mycroft watched Sherlock from his sitting position for a moment before pushing himself up, pick up the file which lay on the kitchen floor as he went. He flicked through a few pages, walking slowly towards the kitchen doorway, beckoning his brother to follow as he entered into the living area. From somewhere in the depths of the file, Mycroft picked out a DVD which seemed to have been tucked away in a secret compartment.

"I had to hide this," Mycroft said out loud, though he wasn't really talking directly to his brother as he took the DVD out of the safety of the plastic compartment and placed it in the DVD player, flicking a button so that the TV woke up. Mycroft looked at his brother who now appeared to be standing in the middle of the room.

"You'll want a seat," Mycroft said softly, pointing to one of the chairs. "I'm not sure this is the best time to show you, but John left a message for you in case he wasn't here if you ever returned, not that he really believed that you would. I guess he just hoped that you would."

Mycroft trailed off and pressed the plan button the remote before taking a seat himself.

Sherlock's legs shook as he walked towards the living area; he knew that whatever his brother wanted to show him wouldn't be nice. He wasn't too sure if he could take it, he knew it would be something to do with John. Sherlock took a deep breath, hoping that both his legs and hands would stop shaking.  
>Looking around, Sherlock noticed that his brother's flat had become his office. The place was littered with yellow sticky notes and documents. Books were piling up around the sofa and on the coffee table. There were some papers on the floor covered in tea, suggesting that Mycroft had spilt tea not so long ago. He had a fire place, which Sherlock thought was a little weird for a flat. But then again, his brother was a bit weird himself. The thought made Sherlock smirk slightly before turning to look at his brother who was rambling something about having to hide a DVD.<p>

When his brother told him to, Sherlock sat on the sofa. He stared at the TV as though it would get up and make a run for it. Sherlock put his feet on the end of the sofa and brought his legs up to his chest. He didn't acknowledge that his brother had sat next to him, all his attention was put on the screen of the TV.

It flicked onto play. I was a picture of John; he was looking into one of the flat's CCVT cameras. He looked worse than he had in the pictures Mycroft had. His eyes were red and puffy, as though he had just finished crying. The sight made Sherlock choke on air, his throat became dry and he hands started shaking even worse. Sherlock couldn't get past thinking that perhaps this was his fault.

Then John started to speak, Sherlock could feel his eyes start to well up. Mycroft eyes turned away from Sherlock, uncertain whether his brother wanted to see him crying or not. Instead he picked up one of the old tattered notebooks on the table and opened it, his eyes briefly flicking up towards the TV screen where John's face could be seen. His familiar voice forming words which meant little to Mycroft that were almost blocked from hearing as he tried to reread through the notes he had made over the past week.

Ignoring his brother's movements and actions, Sherlock continued to stare at the screen and watch the figure that was John pace the flat. At first, Sherlock couldn't really hear what John was saying because he was muttering in a low voice. But as John walked up closer to the CCTV camera it became clear what he was saying.

"…and you can stop spying on me! I know you're doing it Mycroft! For fuck sake! Does no one think I can care for myself?" John nearly shouted this at the CCTV camera causing Sherlock to jump slightly. Every line in John's face had become visible, Sherlock could tell that he had formed three new frown lines and by the thinness of his face it was obvious he hadn't eaten for at least four days. "Everyone's here! All the time! Lestrade is constantly checking up on me! Mrs. Hudson won't stop bugging me about food! And now bloody Mycroft Holmes won't give me an edge of peace!" After saying this John took a deep breath and ran a shaking hand through his messy hair "This is entirely your fault Mycroft! Your entire fault! If you hadn't given that damn Moriarty all that information! S..." John shook his head, as though he couldn't even pronounce Sherlock's name "He'd still be here! Still in this flat, playing that blasted violin of his at 3:00am! Putting heads in the fridge!" Tears began to form in Sherlock's old flat mates eyes. "You know there is one thing I regret! Just one thing I really regret, I never told him… never, not even once. He was my best friend, and now he'll never know that."

Sherlock watched as John seemed to walk away from the CCTV camera; he just sat there and watched, watched John limp away. But then John stopped, in the middle of their… of John's flat and turned around and walked back over to the CCTV. The tall man looked at the face of his old companion, his face had softened and he could see the small lines of where tears were beginning to roll down his cheeks.

"I know you're not dead Sherlock, I know right now you are out there. Out there watching this, I know you are. I never stopped believing in you once; I know you're not a fraud. All those things you did! No one could find that out on the internet. You were one of a kind Sherlock, and no matter how many times people tell me you lied to me, or you were just a fake I will always believe in you. I know there are people out there who believe in you too… I know there are. It was Richard Brooks who was the fraud. That bloody psychopath."

As John said this, Sherlock's vision became blurred as his eyes filled with tears. He believed in Sherlock. Someone believed in him. Quickly, Sherlock rubbed his eyes to clear the water before Mycroft could spot it. He didn't know what to do. What was he meant to do? Sherlock's train of thought got knocked of its rails as John continued to speak.

"What am I saying…?" John turned his back so that his face wasn't visible to the camera. "I saw him… I saw him lying there, his face covered in blood. I felt his pulse. I went to his funeral…" It wasn't hard to deduct that from the tone and the way John's voice shook that he was crying. "He's dead… but he can't be! Sherlock Holmes is too smart to be dead! He can outwit it! He can't be dead."

To Sherlock, John appeared to be having a war against himself. John turned back around and looked straight down the lenses, as though he was looking right at Sherlock. "Just come home Sherlock… please, just come home."

And with that the DVD cut off and the TV turned back to its black screen. Sherlock didn't move, he felt that if he did he would just break down. He didn't know what to do with himself, what was he meant to do? The image of John's tear stained face filled Sherlock's head, leaving Sherlock feeling like a monster. The monster he really is.

"I'm sorry Sherlock," Mycroft whispered, a single tear falling down his cheek. He gently pushed himself up and away from the sofa, walking towards the table whipping away the tear. "I believe you wanted help from British Government. What do you need?"

Mycroft turned to look at his brother who was still sat in the sofa staring at the TV screen. "Sherlock?" Mycroft spoke into the silence.


End file.
